


The One With The Double Date

by thelilacfield



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drunkenness, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Multiple Partners, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 15:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just a suggestion. An innocent suggestion. An innocent, off-hand suggestion that ended with Kurt knocking back shots of tequila from five pm onward to get through the evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With The Double Date

**A/N:**  Set around the same time as 6x06. Inspired by Friends s10e02: The One Where Ross Is Fine. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think if you feel so inclined :)

* * *

It’s after a Breadstix dinner with Santana and Brittany - with Santana spending the entire two hours making thinly-veiled age difference jokes (thank God, with more sophistication than Sue Sylvester’s comments) and Brittany cataloguing all of her wedding-related stresses that put unbearable barbs into Kurt’s heart, thinking of those lazy mornings with Blaine’s chin hooked over his shoulder and dreams in their eyes - that Walter pauses outside Kurt’s door and says, “We should do that more often. I want to get to know your friends.”

“Even after meeting Santana?” Kurt asks, and Walter just laughs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His cologne is still unfamiliar, harsh like a wrong note in a song. “I could maybe ask Quinn if her and Puck wanted to come out with us the next time Puck’s home on leave. I know he’s coming back for the wedding, maybe then.”

“What about Blaine?” Walter asks, and he can’t not notice the jolt that goes through Kurt at the mention of his name. “He seems nice, and Dave has been nothing but polite to me when I’ve met him. We could all have dinner together at my place.” With a small smile, he suggests, “Maybe you could stay over afterwards. You’re a really good cook, Kurt, and it would be a chance for all four of us to be together as couples.”

Some masochistic part of himself makes Kurt say, “I’ll text Blaine tonight.” Walter looks so unbearably happy, it’s as if he’s said yes to a marriage proposal rather than a dinner with another couple, and they say goodnight. Burt and Carole are both still sitting in the lounge, watching TV, and they both look up when Kurt closes the door behind him. He just smiles at them, a small indication that he’s not miserable, and they smile back, tension draining gently away.

**To: Blaine**

**Walter wants you and Dave to have dinner with us some time. He’s offered up his apartment for it. Would you two want to come to something like that?**

**From: Blaine**

**Hi, Kurt, it’s Dave. Blaine’s fallen asleep, but we’d love to have dinner with you and Walter. We don’t know a lot of other gay couples.**

**To: Blaine**

**I can probably fix up dinner with Santana and Brittany if you really want.**

**From: Blaine**

**Dinner with my ex-beard and her fiancée? No thanks.**

From the moment Kurt mentions the dinner to Walter, preparations are full steam ahead for Saturday night. He gets so swept up in it, he doesn’t fully consider what this is going to mean until he’s in Walter’s newly-cleaned apartment, making margaritas and staring at the wall, biting his lip hard to hold back the tears. In less than an hour, Blaine will walk through the door with his boyfriend, the boyfriend he lives with and spends all his time with and kisses over takeout on lazy Friday nights and laughs with and curls up next to in the middle of the night.

Seizing the bottle of tequila from Walter’s liquor cabinet, he takes a slug of it and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, replacing it just in time to avoid being caught by Walter. He looks classically handsome, the lights silvering his hair, and it’s not the first time Kurt smiles at his good looks. But it’s not the same - it never will be.

By the time Blaine and Dave actually arrive, Kurt has had a few tequila shots, and the bottle is in his hands when the doorbell rings. “It’s open,” he calls out, speaking carefully to avoid any slurring - he’s not drunk, not even close, but you never know - and quickly hides the open bottle behind his back as the door opens.

If his imagination has been running wild, it’s nothing compared to the exquisite agony of seeing Blaine holding hands with someone else. He looks so handsome, that tiny waist and those broad shoulders, the body Kurt knows every inch of by heart, wrapped up like a present in grey chinos and a navy sweater. The silence stretches like elastic between them, until Dave says, “You okay, Kurt? You look flushed.”

Cursing the alcohol for adding that unnatural colour to his cheeks, Kurt smiles widely and says, “I’m fine!” aiming for bright and unconcerned. He might actually sound a little manic, from the twitch in Dave’s expression, but he turns back to the food quickly, to avoid the sad, wistful look in Blaine’s eyes.

When they vanish into the dining room, where Walter can entertain them with bland conversation, Kurt knocks back another three shots in quick succession, feeling the alcohol burn and go straight to his head. Straightening the pin on his vest - a black cat, given to him by Brittany when she heard about the dinner - he picks up the tray of margaritas and pins on his ‘host with the most’ smile.

“So what’s for dinner, Kurt?” Dave asks gently, when Kurt is halfway down his margarita, hair coming down over his face in a heavy curl.

“I’m making fajitas!” Kurt says, again trying to sound bright and careless. His voice comes out louder than he meant, and he screws his face up the next second. “Oops, sorry.”

“Oh, I love Mexican food!” Dave says, trying to hide the awkwardness. “Blaine thinks it’s so weird how much of the stuff I eat, right, honey?”

“Oh, honey,” Kurt sighs wistfully, draining his glass and refilling it. “I used to say that all the time.” Eyeing the now empty jug suspiciously, he says, “Don’t you think that batch was kinda lacklustre?”

“Maybe we would if any of us had gotten to have any, dear,” Walter says gently, and Kurt springs into action, untouched glasses clashing together as he snatches them up and sets them back on the tray.

“I’ll make another batch!” he says, again louder than he meant. “And then the fajitas will be ready, and I can put the flan in for dessert! Ooh, and _tater tots_! Mercedes loves those, maybe I should call her. Hey, maybe she could bring Sam!”

“They broke up, remember?” Blaine reminds him gently, and Kurt fights every instinct he has not to collapse sobbing into his lap when he meets Blaine’s big, golden eyes. “Sam’s interested in Rachel now.”

“Well maybe Mercedes could bring Roderick!” Kurt says. “He’s so nice, and they’d be really good together. You know, I totally think he has a thing for Jane, but she’s interested in Mason. Love triangles make me sad, though, because someone always has to be alone. They should have more love squares. Two couples!”

“I think he’s too young for Mercedes,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt just looks at him, before he remembers his host duties and runs to the kitchen, starting another batch of margaritas.

Bringing the pitcher through with the food, Kurt sits down next to Walter on the couch, balancing his plate on his knees. When the food is gone, and a third pitcher out, he starts to realise that the quiet welcomes thoughts he doesn’t want to consider, and clears his throat to break it. “I think some music would be really great,” he says loudly, and presses the switch to make the speakers start belching out _I’ll Cover You_. “Oh, I love this song!” Putting a hand on Walter’s knee to get his attention, he smiles enigmatically and says, “Blaine and I went to see a community production of RENT, and it was _amazing_. Do you remember that, Blaine?”

“Of course I do,” Blaine says, so sweetly, and Kurt glances at him, filled once more with that implacable urge to either scream, shout or burst into tears. He drowns it with another margarita, swaying slightly in his seat, and smiles around at the three other men.

“Isn’t this fun?!” he says loudly, waiting for them to nod. “I’m so proud of us. There’s no awkwardness, no tension,” such is his state of drunkenness, he doesn’t notice Dave’s eyebrows rising in disbelief, “and we make a really great foursome. We should more things together. Maybe we could go away for a weekend!”

“Kurt, I don’t think you can afford that,” Walter says gently. “Are you feeling okay, sweetheart? You’re drinking quite a lot.”

“I’m fine, I’m just so excited that we’re all so great as friends!” Kurt proclaims, spilling a little of his glass. “And these margaritas are really good. I should be a bartender when I go back to New York.” Inspiration hits, and he spills another bit of his drink as he excitedly says, “Or maybe I could open a bar! I could be an entre...an antre...an ente - wow that’s a hard word to say - a businessman! Rachel and I could open a bar together, now she has nothing to go to. We could call it the Emerald City, and the dance floor could be gold, and we could sing. Santana could do it to, she sounds like a bar singer. Right, Blaine?” He beams at Blaine, and notices the sadness in his eyes. “Don’t be sad. You could sing there too. Everyone would really love you - you’re the piano man!”

Walter lays a soothing hand on his thigh, drawing him back down onto the couch. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, concerned eyes on Kurt’s. “You seem a little...manic.”

“I’m fine!” Kurt says, laughing at him. “You’re so silly, worrying about me.” Refilling all their glasses, he raises his slightly and says, “I would like to make a toast. To Blaine and Dave, and to love.” Taking a sip, he continues, “Love. L-O-V-E love. L is for the way you look at me. O is for the only one I see. V is-”

“Okay, sweetheart, I’m just going to get the flan out of the oven, okay?” Walter says, brushing a soothing kiss against his cheek, and Kurt nods.

“Make sure you use oven mitts!” he calls, and sucks on the angry red burn on the side of his thumb. “I’m getting so forgetful, it must be the pressure of running the glee club.”

“Of course,” Dave says soothingly, and takes Blaine’s hand. “We’ll have some flan, Kurt, and then we’re going to take off. My shift starts early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh _no_!” Kurt nearly yelps, slumping across the sofa in despair. “But we haven’t even played Pictionary yet!”

Walter returns with the flan, and glasses of water. “Oh you’re so boring!” Kurt says, playfully swatting at his arm. “I’m going to make another pitcher of-”

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart, you’re going to feel terrible in the morning,” Walter says firmly, and takes his half-full glass away. Whimpering, Kurt snatches at it, but overbalances and lands in Walter’s lap. “Come on, you know you’re drunk. Eat your flan, it smells amazing.”

When the food is gone and the plates stacked in the sink, Kurt unsteadily gets to his feet to say goodbye to Blaine and Dave. Walter vanishes upstairs to make a call, and Kurt is swaying on his feet, leaning against the wall. “Thank you for this, Kurt, it was a lovely evening,” Dave says.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Kurt says dreamily, and Dave kisses Blaine’s cheek and murmurs something to him before he leaves the two of them alone.

“Kurt, I _know_  you,” Blaine says, and takes his hands, squeezing them tightly in his familiar fingers. “You never drink this much unless you’re full of adrenaline or upset. Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine!” Kurt says, but his voice is too high, and it only takes a short glance at Blaine’s big eyes and soft mouth before he breaks down in the tears that have been building all night. “I’m not, I’m not okay. I miss you, I fucking m-miss you so much. I’m still so in love with you, and you’re here with him, you guys are a couple now, and you’re going home to your apartment, and I’m standing here watching the boat sail away.”

“Oh _Kurt_ , honey, you know you’re never going to watch me sail away,” Blaine says, cupping his face in his hands and looking seriously into his eyes. “We’re too much a part of each other’s lives for that. We don’t say goodbye, remember?”

“Then what do you call this?” Kurt asks through a sob, and Blaine smiles, dragging his thumb across Kurt’s cheek and making his breath hitch as he wipes a fat tear away.

“See you on Thursday at Mr Schue’s,” he says softly. “I hear the baby is absolutely adorable. If Santana says it, it must be true.”

“Do you love him?” Kurt asks, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. “You live with him, and he calls you honey like I used to, and he puts his arm around you and protects you from getting hurt.”

“I really needed someone, and he’s been there for me to need,” Blaine says, pointedly steering around the question. “There are feelings there. In time, it could be love.” With a small smile, he adds, “But I can’t stop thinking about being trapped in that elevator with you.”

“That _kiss_ ,” Kurt mumbles in a slightly awed tone. “My nipples were _so_  hard.” Blaine laughs, and heat shoots up Kurt’s neck.

“Kurt?” Turning around, tears still streaming down his cheeks, Kurt can barely force the corners of his mouth to turn up for Walter. “I’ve called your parents, and Rachel. You’re too drunk for your parents to see you, and too upset to stay here, so I’m taking you to her. She’ll look after you.” He smiles, and then walks away again, leaving the two of them alone.

“Everything about it, Kurt, it was like we were sixteen again,” Blaine says, brushing a hand down Kurt’s forearm. “I left there, and I knew I wasn’t as over you as I thought I was.”

“I was watching you sleep, and it was like mornings in New York,” Kurt says quietly. “I would wake up first and just lie there and watch you sleeping, and think about how I would wake up to you every morning for the rest of my life. And now I don’t, I wake up to my alarm and Rachel giving me a ride and days with the kids and dinner with Walter and you wake up to Dave.” New, hot tears spurt down his cheeks, and he covers his face with his hands in shame.

“Hey,” Blaine says soothingly, pulling his hands gently away and cupping his tear-stained face in his hands. “If you ever open that bar, I will be on board to help.” Kurt snorts out a wet laugh, and Blaine smiles too. “You’re a part of my heart, Kurt. That is never going to change.”

Their eyes meet, and it’s like they can’t bear it anymore. Blaine leans in and presses the softest kiss to Kurt’s trembling, salted-wet mouth, gone again as soon as it’s there. He smiles sadly and then leaves, the door closing behind him like a full stop. Kurt slumps back against the wall, clutching his hands together, until Walter returns.

“Why did you say yes to this?” he asks gently. “If it’s making you this upset, and drink for America, why did you agree?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Kurt says, and then adds, “Those margaritas were _really_  good.” Walter laughs, and presses a tissue into his hands, and then helps him down the stairs to the car.

**From: Blaine**

**You could create new cocktails and name them Courage, Heart and Brain.**

**To: Blaine**

**I’d give you a Heart.**

**From: Blaine**

**I’d give you a Courage.**

**To: Blaine**

**You already have, a thousand times.**

**From: Blaine**

**And you’ve done the same for me with a Heart. You’ve taken one from me, too. Never given it back.**

**To: Blaine**

**Never going to.**

**From: Blaine**

**I know.**


End file.
